


And We Don't Even Have to Try

by Telenovela



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 17:29:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telenovela/pseuds/Telenovela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt on page 8 of the Les Mis kink meme (Round 3):</p><p>"Combeferre/Courfeyrac, wherein Courf is prone to public displays of affection. Cue blushing Combeferre trying to push Courf off his lap and hide the hickeys on his neck, all under Enjolras' glare.</p><p>Just lots of C/C and blushing and PDA!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	And We Don't Even Have to Try

**Author's Note:**

> All my Courf/Ferre shipping is the fault of Aly (courfuffle on tumblr), so you should blame her for this.
> 
> The title is a line from 'It's Only Natural' by Crowded House, which I'd definitely recommend looking up because a) it's a fantastic song, and b) it pretty much perfectly summarises how I imagine Courf and Ferre's relationship.

It’s not that Combeferre wasn’t happy with everyone knowing about his relationship with Courfeyrac. Quite the opposite actually; sometimes Courfeyrac would push a hand into the back pocket of his jeans as they walked together, or lift his glasses up onto his forehead to kiss him, or give him this smile that nobody else ever got to see, and it would make Combeferre want to accost strangers on the street and inform them clearly and systematically just how he felt about his boyfriend.

The line of hickeys which currently ran from his collarbone up to his jaw were, however, not really the sort of proclamation he had in mind.

He rubbed gingerly at them, frowning into the bathroom mirror when they didn’t magically vanish. _Dammit, Courf._ With no time to try and find a less revealing shirt, he wound a scarf tightly around his neck and pulled his coat on, heading for the apartment door. He paused for a moment, then walked back to the bedroom and found the pad of sticky notes they kept on the desk, scribbling out a quick message to say that he’d gone to class and adding ‘Have a nice day!’ on the end. His hand moved subconsciously to touch the marks on his neck again, and he pulled the scarf up a little higher. Then, glancing in the direction of the sleeping figure still in his bed, with a glare that turned into a fond smile at the last moment, he picked up his bag of books and left.

It being a Thursday meant that after class that afternoon they were due to meet with their friends in the back room of a local café, the Musain, for the weekly gathering of the university’s Student Equaity Society.

Jehan had complimented him on his scarf within thirty seconds of his entering the café. Combeferre sighed. He was going to try and forget the whole ordeal, he decided, and focus on their next protest, part of an ongoing campaign against the government’s plans to raise university tuition fees. He sat down next to Enjolras to carry on mapping out the route of their march, and for half an hour things continued as normal. They were deep in discussion over the practicality of taking the march through the banking district, when Courfeyrac arrived.

He began with a soft “Hey,” and a kiss to Combeferre’s cheek which was just familiar enough to be publically acceptable, but still enough to elicit a frown from Enjolras. Combeferre smiled at him in return, before leaning back down to carefully draw a line down a main street on the map. Courfeyrac pouted, and leaned in to bite gently at Combeferre’s earlobe, adding “Good day?” to his former greeting, in a whisper. Combeferre’s pen paused, hovering over the map for a moment, before he turned to Courfeyrac with a raised eyebrow.

“Not too bad.”

Then he was back to squinting at the paper in front of him, deciding whether it would be better to take a left or a right turn at the end of this street, and turning away from Courfeyrac to discuss it again with Enjolras.

Courfeyrac’s frown twisted into a smirk. He brought a hand to rest on Combeferre’s knee, sliding it ever so slowly higher and higher up his leg. Combeferre carried on talking, but his speech was becoming less eloquent by the second, stammering and ‘um’-ing and causing a concerned look from Enjolras. Towards the top of Combeferre’s thigh, Courfeyrac gave a firm squeeze. Combeferre let out a squeak, breaking off mid-word and screwing his eyes shut for a moment, before taking the offending hand in his own and moving it back into Courfeyrac’s own lap. Enjolras, who was apparently far less ignorant to Courfeyrac’s antics than Courf had formerly thought, was glaring at them now. He shot Enjolras his most charming grin, causing him to roll his eyes and lean back down over the map. Combeferre, who had been quietly recovering, leaned closer to Courf for a moment to mutter, “Later,” before rejoining Enjolras around the map.

For a while, everything continued as normal. They finished plotting the route for the march, and Enjolras was standing on a chair and giving a speech to the (mostly) enraptured room of friends, before Courfeyrac decided that he was, once again, bored.

Combeferre was taking down notes of some of Enjolras’ ideas, when suddenly there was a leg sliding across his own, and then all at once Courfeyrac was in his lap. Not even just sitting on him, either, but actually straddling his hips.

“Courf, please!” he whined, as quietly as possible, trying to reach around him to retrieve the notebook he’d been writing in while at the same time attempting to ignore all sensation from the waist down. Neither effort was particularly successful.

“Yes, darling?” Courfeyrac gave him a smile that was all wide-eyed innocence.

Hearing a giggle from somewhere towards the back of the room, Combeferre squirmed in his chair, trying to push Courfeyrac off, but Courf just wound a hand into the back of ‘Ferre’s hair, leaning their chests flush together and pressing his face into Combeferre’s shoulder, trapping his arms in between them.

Combeferre glanced sheepishly up at Enjolras, realising that he’d stopped talking, and seeing the vein in his temple throbbing dangerously. He winced.

From across the room, Joly’s slightly panicked voice rang out:  
“Why, Combeferre, you’re the colour of a tomato! Somebody take off his scarf, quickly, before he overheats and develops a swelling of the brain!”

Combeferre’s eyes widened. He tried to protest, but Courf was a dead weight on him, and soon Bahorel’s inelegant hands were unravelling the scarf to reveal his neck.

Courfeyrac, mission accomplished, slid backwards and climbed off Combeferre, smiling like the cat who got the cream. Combeferre crossed one of his legs over the other, and stared pointedly at the opposite wall.

Someone wolf-whistled.

Enjolras looked like he might be about to go into cardiac arrest.

Courfeyrac giggled, and Combeferre was caught in an intense internal struggle between missing the warm weight on his lap and wanting to fall through the floor and die. Eventually, he settled on learning forwards, blush still not subsided, and picking up his notepad and pen again. He gave a small cough, and nodded up at Enjolras.

“As you were.”

\- - -

The meeting had ended, and people were gathering together notes and bags, preparing to leave for the night.

Combeferre glared at Courfeyrac.

“I hate you,” he deadpanned. “I am going to write a letter of complaint to the Guardian about how much I hate you, so that everyone can know just how terrible you are.”

Courfeyrac grinned back at him.

“You too, always and forever. Now let’s go home?”

Combeferre re-wrapped the scarf firmly around his neck, with another sideways glare at Courf, and they left the café. As they walked down the narrow street outside and back towards their apartment, Courfeyrac pushed a hand into the back pocket of Combeferre’s jeans, and Combeferre smiled.


End file.
